Sarah and the xmenasaurus
by Jobby lowe stuuby man
Summary: Well theres this mutant. Its good i suppose. Hate to sound big headed. Disclaimer: I dont own x-men. In fact i dont own nething cos im a tramp.
1. Default Chapter

Outside, the clouds finally broke. They'd hung over the school all day, like lumpy, oppressive gruel in the sky. The rain beat heavily on the classroom windows, sliding down in wide, slow waves. Inside, Sarah watched a few nursery kids run round in circles screaming, enjoying getting soaked through until a teacher came and shooed their sodden forms inside.  
  
It was nice inside. The low and steady voice of Mr Dickson (it was incredible how the man had remained in the teaching profession and indeed sane for so long with that name), as he recited passages from Shakespeare, combined with the soft drumming of the rain and the wind on the windowpane beneath her cheek was pleasant background noise. The chair was surprisingly comfortable for such a cheap ass school such as this one, and it seemed that they had finally fired enough staff to afford to put the heating on for once. Hot air flowed gently over her face and through her long blonde hair from the radiator below. She sighed and leant back, the plastic creaking under her.  
  
"What did I just say, Sarah?"  
  
The pleasant atmosphere dissolved away as she jerked up, grinning foolishly.  
  
"W-w- what?"  
  
Mr Dickson was now stood before her desk, smiling. She watched as the nasty, little button eyes glimmered with malice. A little red sliver flicked out and moistened lips with glee. Then he sighed rather theatrically.  
  
" Not paying attention again, eh?" His smile became a sneer. "Another detention again, maybe, hmmm?" He paused, apparently to savouring the moment.   
  
Sarah opened her mouth to object but nothing came out. She already knew the response.  
  
"Hmmm? You were going to say something?" He paused again to sneer directly into her face. "Its not your 'poor' back again is it? No broken collarbone? Hmmm?"  
  
Then the sneer fell, withdrawing back into its hidey-hole of evil emotions hidden beneath the rolls of fat that ran down his face, and was replayed by a look of disgusted contempt. He turned on his heel and paced back to the front of the class, where he began to read again. If this had been had film, he would have worn a black cloak, and it would've swirled about him evilly. As it were, he just wore old, faded teacher clothes.  
  
She gave it a few minutes before she returned to her happy doze.  
  
Eventually the bell rang. There was a rush as everyone began to stuff papers and books into bags and rush for the door. Mr Dickson began to yell orders over the noise, homeworks, reminders of detentions and the school trip. There was a chorus of grumbles and dirty looks.  
  
And then, as Sarah flipped her bag onto her back, something went wrong. Her back arched suddenly, pain shooting through it, and began to swell. Red-hot fluid was pouring in between her shoulders and all down her spine and forcing out the skin at an alarming rate. She yelled out in fear and pain and fell to the floor. The swelling pushed upwards, outwards, growing so big that it pushed her head down onto her chest. The bag straps stretched and snapped.  
  
People had begun to notice; she could hear them screaming, though could see nothing but the floor. She heard someone yelling- a woman, pushing her way through the terrified, enthralled crowd- then a hand on her shoulder, just as the pain reached its climax. She screamed and her back was torn open. Her head, released as the swell burst, snapped back and into loose flaps of skin and blood. The classroom was turned red, as her insides were painted across the walls, the desks, the people.  
  
And she fainted, knowing that she was going to die. 


	2. The drawn out introductory chapter Enjoy

We'd bought a cheapest white van available, kitted it out with the necessary servailance technology and then sat in to wait. At the current rate of mutation, the proffesor had said, we could be there a while.  
  
At the moment, we were parked around the back of St Stevns High School. Inside, our prey, Sarah Stalone, was taking English. From all information we were recieving visualy and audiably-we'd slipped several bugs into her clothing and, at the moment, Nightcrawler sat in one of the deflated front seats with binoculars, peering through the darkened glass- she'd done nothing. "She haz her face pressed up to the glass,no" the frequent reports kept telling us. Nightcrawler was energetic but very anoying sometimes.  
  
I sat at the back on a plastic stool, feeling bored. I was the only member of our select litle team with no day job; I stayed awake through the night and was to wake the others if anything happened. It was a lonely job, one which I was sure Logan(the muscles of the operation) would've been far more suited for. Nightcrawler even had the name for it.  
  
"Shouldn't you be getting some sleep?" I looked up into the black, japanesey eyes of Jubilee and smiled."You look really tired." she said.  
  
"I'll be fine," I replied. This was a lie, of course: I'd hardly slept in a week and, when I did, the dreams were always unpleasant, warped reality dreams like the ones you get when you have a fever- of men with no eyes and worlds where people had no faces. Jubilee, with her laid-back attitude, had waved them away as products of the current sleeping conditions and the incredible levels of cafiene in my blood, and that I was a fool to worry about them.  
  
But then, off course, she wasnt the one having them.  
  
I poured myself more coffee from the grimed up coffee machine that perched unsteadilly on one of the long metal tables that ran the length of the truck. At the noise or the smell or something, Logan turned in his drivers seat to look at me.  
  
"Any left?" he said bluntly. Ah yes, Logan. He was the tough guy, the rough guy, the guy who had seen the world and shunned everybody, though deep down everyone knew he was a good egg. I hated him. Dont ask me why; maybe it was his abnoxious, macho Americanism and the fact that I was British. Or the way he carefully trimmed his stubble to be not-quite-shaved-not-quite-beard but that perfect, cliched ruggedness. Or how you could hide a body in those enormous sideburns of his.  
  
Whatever it was, I loathed the bastard, but I poured him a cup anyway.  
  
Over the radio came the sounds of voices. We all looked to Nightcrawler who shrugged and said, "Ze teecher aint too happy.(sorry but do you know how hard it is to write like a russian would speak?)"  
  
Nightcrawler was the guy's codename; his real name was Kurt. He was Russian, annoying but likable and had a tendency to be incredibly sarcastic at times.  
  
He was also covered in short, blue fur, had pointed elfen-ears and a long, thin, pronged tail. In many ways he looked like a demon, hence the name.  
  
I wistled a bit and sipped my coffee. The noises on the radio were distorted a lot, affected greatly by the electric fizzle and the layers of clothing that covered the bugs, but it still carried the distinct tones of an uptight, irate man, taking out the stresses and strains of a long day's work on the nearest indiviual. Logan twiddled a few buttons idly, fazing out background noise and interfernence, and the quality greatly improved.  
  
" What a bastard," Jubilee stated( It was funny and more than a little weird that, in the weeks we'd been shadowing Sarah, we'd all gotten attached to her. So much so, we almost took it as a personal affront if someone insulted her). Then he said something about the back pains she' been having and we all looked up; these complaints were becoming a common ocurence now. The Proffessor had said they were likely a product of her emergent mutant ability. The fact that they were getting stronger, more frequent, obviously meant something.  
  
It would probably be a good idea at this point to answer a few questions you may have. These probably range from "Why are you in a van, following a young girl? What are you, stalkers?" to "Why the hell is that guy blue!?" Well, first things first, let me asure you that we are not weird, atleast in that sense. We were simply looking out for one of our own- a mutant. We were all mutants in this van as was she, though she just didnt know it yet. This was why Kurt had the hair, the fangs and the tail, why Logan had powers of regeneration and knifes which popped out of his knuckle (always fun to watch) and why Jubilee fired little plasmoids out of the tips of her fingers. They all had the mutant gene, and had learnt to accept it.  
  
It's funny: when each of them got their power, they hated it and then in time, through the wise teachings of the Proffesor. Mine, then atleast, was completely the oposite. It started out as a dream- I could be anyone I wanted to be. I could even be any animal- a cat and enjoy a brisk, night stroll about my neighborhood fences or a bird and fly to dizzying heights where the oxygen grew thin or even a dolphin and go deep sea diving. For the first year it had been bliss. Now, a year on, here I sat, in the back of a beaten up van that stank of rot and rat droppings, drinking foul, bitter coffee, and wallowing in my own, personal, mental hell.  
  
A mobile phone, that had previously been balancing off the edge off an equiptment-laden metal shelf, rang, and vibrated itself into a pool of damp on the floor. Jubilee answered it. What with her trenchcoat, (OK so it was bright yellow) it could've been a scene out of the matrix.  
  
"A hoy hoy?" (Well that ruined the atmosphere.) I all listened, straining to hear over the drum of the rain on the roof, and I distinctly heard the deep, majestic tones of the Proffesor.  
  
"Uh huh.......Uh huh.......Yeah, we're watching right no-...........we'll get on it right away, sir" and, flicking the mobile shut, she turned to the two in the front seats. "K, you guys stay here, moniter the situation and come in if we need you."  
  
At this, I flung open the back door and jumped out. A cold sheet of rain hit me immediately and I shrank deeper into my thin, black jumper. I was wearing the uniform of the school- bland trousers, boots, shirt and a garish green and purple tie- all for undercover purposes; if anyone asked, I was the new English foriegn exchange student. My features were not my own, thanks to my ability to change them at will, and had been chosen by the Proffesor to be as immemorable as possible. My hair was short and the colour between blond and brown that has no name. My eyes were muddy green and my face so drab, dull and depressed that no American, filled to the brim with steriotypes, could ever doubt I was English. If anyone happened to ask, then I was Jim Slater from Barnsley, Yorkshire.  
  
Jubilee landed on the wet tarmac beside me and set off jogging towards the squat, concrete building that was the school. I followed.  
  
"What are we doing?" I asked, as we weaved our way through the cars of the car park. There was no one around. Only idiots would brave this sort of weather; the rain fell from above, was blown in from the sides and rebounded off the concrete below, effectively getting you from all sides. We were quickly sodden.  
  
"Keeping a closer watch," Jubilee yelled back, over the drumming of the car tops. "That was the Proffesor on the phone."  
  
"I guessed."  
  
"He says Cerebro's picking up something, some unusual patterns. I think it's finally happening. This should be fun to see what happens, huh?"  
  
I squinted and swept away the droplets that clung to my lank, British brow. Maybe a few weeks ago it would've been but now I was just eager to get it over with and get back home, to the hot showers, the indoor swimming pool...  
  
I smiled to myself. Home? I was calling it that after only a month.  
  
We reached the reception and stepped inside, smiling sweetly at the receptionist as we passed. Though for all she cared, we could've weilding chainsaws. 


	3. Well, Im sort of getting quite bored wit...

We took our places in the corridor outside the classroom in which, at the moment, Sarah was sitting. When passing the door, I glanced in; Sarah was sat across the room, leant back once more in her chair, her face placid, her world nice and sane for possibly the last time in her life. I envied her.  
  
There was a windowledge at the end of the coridor. We sat on it and waited. You did a lot of sitting and waiting in this job.  
  
The American school was a lot different than any English ones I'd ever seen. For a start, it was filled with American kids so the corridors had to be much wider to acomodate the extra stone of fat each child carried around with them. Add on the space needed for the lockers and it was like walking down a motorway. The floor was perfectly clean of litter and downtrodden chewing-gum and actually gleamed. I mentally noted that anyone coming within 100 metres would be instantly caught out by the squeeking of their shoes. And there was huge windows high up in the walls, letting in the grey light.  
  
Jubilee beat her feet against the loose wood beneath the windowsill. I was starting to learn to learn that she fidgited when she was worried. And she was messing with her hair.  
  
She followed my gaze and her hand paused halfway to her hair. "What?" she asked, as she began to tap mindlessly with the other hand.  
  
"You worried about them?"  
  
She glared. "No", she snapped. And she sat on her hands.  
  
"Really? You're whistling."  
  
"I am no-...So? That doesnt mean anything!"  
  
I smirked, though i risked a smack in the face, at the knowledge that, in a small way, I understood her better than she did herself. Once again I was amazed at how blind people were to themselves. Still, I let it drop; when you're living with someone around the clock it helps to be on their good side. Tried to atleast-  
  
"Plus they'll probably not turn up anyway-"  
  
"I am not worried!"  
  
"They havent shown up in weeks and-"  
  
"Shut-"  
  
"You can hold my hand if you like" I grinned.  
  
"-up."  
  
Then the bell rang. Sod's law dictated that it should be exactly above our heads.  
  
All down the corridor doors opened and floods of kids gushed out. Podgy faces and grotesqly huge bellies formed a huge black tidal wave that spept, with alarming speed for such well fed youngsters, in the direction of the canteen.  
  
Claire's classroom door was open too. Stubby fingers of fat and wobbly arms were clawing around the door frame. Black red maws hung open in red faces in anticipation, practically dripping with spit.  
  
"Now what do we do?"I shouted over the animal roar of the crowd.  
  
Jubilee shrughed. "We'll go check on her. Nothing big. Just investigate those readings."  
  
She stepped into the rush, looking as vulnerable as a hedgehog on a motorway. But it seemed the Americans had respect for such a thin person (or was it pity?)- and a natural hatred for English. People parted for the young Chinese girl and then swarmed quickly back in on me. I was almost bludgeoned to death by brightly-coloured packed lunch boxes.  
  
Was that a scream? Jubilee half-turned to me, eyebrows raised questionably, but then a particullarly large mound of animated fat caught me a glancing blow with a bag. As I stumbled back, the crowd that reformed after Jubilee had passed caught me in its sweaty embraced. I was carried halfway down the corridor before I could reestablish my footing and force my way forward again.  
  
The flow changed. People began to run, one or two at first and then the others caught on and joined in. People began to charge up and down the corridor. Some looking scared, some looking excited. All of the later where running one way-towards the classroom which Jubilee had just entered, the one in which Sarah sat. I pushed harder, only to find the throbing mass push back.  
  
"Screw this," I hissed to myself. And I let myself go.  
  
The effect was instantanious, the relief incredible. In the blink of an eye, the colour ran from my skin and lips. My hair shed itself and fell down in clumps about my shoulders, only to be replaced by short white-blonde hair which sprouted suddenly and painfully out of my head like a play-do squeezing machine that someone had just jumped on. I think I grew about a foot.  
  
As til then, a rocus of shouts and screams had filled the corridor. But as I grew a ring off absolute silence sread out around me. People stared at me, and it was a wonderfull feeling to watch their eyes, wide as plates, fill with fear. Mouths gibbered and a few people pointed, as if to draw other peoples attention to something everyone was already looking at.  
  
The skin all down my spine split, like a giant eye opening. I felt the compacted mass, which had clung to my back all morning like rocks under my skin, turn liquid.  
  
Black wings exploded out of my shoulders. Then the fear in their eyes turned to fear in their feet and they ran. Like pigs they clawed and squeled and faught each other to get away. I looked like an angel of death to them as I stood there, tar-black feathers still damp with fluids, billowing about me. This was the real me. For some reason, I wanted to shout that after them.  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
Y the hell am i writing this? This isnt me- I write sick, erotic novels. Sadly the thought of my family finding them has the same effect of pointing a gun at my head and saying, " If u write just one sentance that is interesting then my finger might just slip in excitement and I dont think you'd want that, kappeach?" If any1 has any methods 4 writing stuff which cant b found by other people then please email me. Otherwise just send a review. 


End file.
